


Such a Long Time Spent in the Dark

by Been_Winchestered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Implied Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Incest, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Season/Series 12, Psychosis, Rare Pairings, Season/Series 12, Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Been_Winchestered/pseuds/Been_Winchestered
Summary: Mary has a difficult time adjusting to her new life.  Dean will always be willing to do anything for his family's sake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I even ship this, but I've been seeing so many parallels between John and Dean lately, and the idea wouldn't leave me alone.

She didn’t come back right.   She can feel it in her bones and in her soul.  She can taste it in her mouth. The world has detached from her and run past her, she doesn’t belong in it anymore.  John is dead in the earth and she was meant to be burned and buried beside him.  The dead are supposed to stay dead.  Those who don’t are never at peace.

∞•∞

He’s John in more ways than he knows.  It’s not just the car, or the music, or the haircut, or the aftershave.  It’s the way he carries himself.  The dimples in his smile.  His hands and the way he uses them.  It’s the soft look he gets in his eyes when he talks about his brother.  That look used to be for her when it was in John’s eyes.  It makes her ache.

∞•∞

They find Sammy. They are almost too late.  The infection in his wounds was spreading through his blood.  If it wasn’t for the angel, he would have died before they got him home.  

When Sam comes to, he touches his brother’s face and just stares.  Blinks as if to dispel a vision, and stares again.

“S’okay, Sammy.  I’m here.”

∞•∞

Dean - _not John_ \- cries after they get Sammy settled into his room, but only when he thinks no one is looking.  He leans back against the wall in the corridor and bows his head and lets the tears fall.  He's not praying, but maybe something like it.  She turns the corner and only sees him briefly before she retreats back to the room they gave her.

∞•∞

Her body was reformed perfectly but pieces are missing from her mind, or maybe from her soul.  Sometimes she thinks that she is in hell and he is her torment.  When she looks at him, she doesn’t see her son; she sees a ghost.  

He’s a ghost she can’t burn, but he’s the wrong one.  He’s a curse she can’t break.  He’s the reminder of her greatest wrongs, the selfish thing she did to her family all those years ago and all the consequences that came after.

She seeks him out anyway.  Every moment in his presence is sunlight on her face after such a long time spent in the dark.  His laugh is addictive, his smile is kind, and he loves her.  He loves her most, with one exception.  He honors her in everything.  He reveres her as his patron saint of close calls and apple pies and silver bullets and second chances.  He breaks her heart every day.

∞•∞

She walks the floor at night, wanders in the empty concrete passages and tunnels.  The cool air causes goosebumps to form on her skin, the cold floor chills her feet.  Most of the store rooms are locked but she tries all the door handles but two.  Sometimes she circles through three or four times a night, sometimes only once.  She always stops at Dean’s - _John’s?_ \- bedroom door and wonders.  She knows that someday she will open a door and John will be waiting on the other side.

Sam finds her this way, one night.  His eyes are soft and worried and he asks her what she is doing there.  She tells him that she lost her way looking for the kitchen.  He leads her there and makes her a cup of tea.  He takes after her father, especially in stature, but he is gentler.  She is proud of that.

∞•∞

One time she calls Dean by the wrong name and it makes him shy.  He stumbles over his words and then acts like it didn’t happen.  Underneath the scars, the age lines, the stray gray hairs, there is still a remnant of innocence; it is as faint as the freckles on his nose.  He trusts her like a boy.  He reminds her of another boy, the one who had dog tags around his neck and trusted her when he trusted no one else.

∞•∞

If it weren’t for the salt and iron she steps over, she would believe that she haunts this place.  She wanders through the dim tunnels and up and down the steep stairs.  She tries every door but two.  Each one has been locked.  

She makes her rounds again and stops in front of John’s door.  She turns the handle and it gives way with a soft click.  The door creaks as it opens and announces her presence.  John sits up and raises his gun.  He sees her and puts it away and curses under his breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, after a beat.

“Nothin’?  Well, then what is it?  Why’d you wake me up?”

She shuts the door quietly and the room goes black.

“Mom?”  The bedclothes rustle as he moves.

She steps toward his voice and finds the corner of the bed.  Two more steps and she is brushing her hand over his knee.  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, knees apart and feet on the floor.  She runs her hand along his body, eventually finds his cheek and cradles it.

“Mom?”  His voice is different now.  More awake.  Maybe scared.  “Mom, what’re you doin’?”

“Shh, John.  It’s me.  It’s Mary.”  She kisses him, and he turns his face from it, so she kisses his neck, sliding her arms around him.

“John? I’m not --” She cuts him off with another kiss.  This time, his mouth is pliant even though his body is so tense.  She slides her tongue into his mouth to taste him, so glad he tastes no different.

“Mary,” he whispers when she breaks the kiss.

“Yes.”  She drops her nightgown, guides his hands to her body.  His hands tremble as they touch her, rubbing over her hips and thighs.  He pulls his hands away and begins to undress.

“Condoms are in the top drawer.   And lube, if you’re into that.”

“Since when do you want condoms?”

“Since…” he trails off, “since I became a hunter.”  His voice cracks.

“Oh.” She turns on the lamp to look in the drawer.

He blushes at the sight of her and turns away.  “Turn it off.”

“What?”

“The lamp.  I can’t.  I can’t do this.  In the light.  Turn it off.”

“Why?”  She turns to him, body bare, offering it to him.

“I’m -- I’m Dean.  Jesus, Mom.  It’s me.”

She blinks at him.  “John...Dean’s...Dean’s a little child.  Dean’s our son.”

“Oh.  Really?  Where is he?”

She hesitates, trying to remember.  Her head hurts.  Her chest hurts.  “Sleeping.”

“...Sleeping.”

“You put him down for the night, remember?  After we said goodnight to Sammy.”

“Did we?”

She tears up.  “John please.”

He answers after a long pause.  “Okay.  Okay, come here.”

She leaves the light on and crawls into bed him and kisses him for a long time.  He alternates between behaving coldly and being warm and pliant and she doesn’t understand why.  Then he gets up for a condom,  stroking his cock to harden up, and turns out the light.

His body is warm and pleasantly heavy when he lays over her.  He touches her like she is new, like they haven’t done this a thousand times, and it makes her blush.  He tucks his face into her shoulder and gives gentle thrusts, sometimes letting his cock slip out to glide over her clit, sometimes thumbing it at just the right moment.  He makes her shudder and tremble and oh God, it’s the best he’s ever been in bed, even though he doesn’t say a word.  He shivers every time she says his name.

When he comes, he cries silently and lies still as it ends.  She doesn’t understand.  She strokes his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out.  She doesn’t know what to say.

He pulls away and tugs his clothes on.  Her eyes have adjusted to the dark and she watches him. He keeps his back to her even though the light is off, then he turns and offers her nightgown.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.  Just getting you back to your room.”

“Why?  Why can’t we share a room like any other couple?”

He sighs and rubs his temple.  “Is this a game?”

“No.”

“Christo.”

She scoffs.

“We have to keep this a secret.  From _Sam_.  Not baby Sammy, okay?  Sam.  Remember him?”

Her head hurts.  She doesn’t answer.

He sighs again, and scoops her up with the bedsheet and nightgown draped around her.  He carries her back to the other room.  The one they gave her.

“Jo- Dean, stay with me,” she begs when he puts her down on the bed.  He looks heartbroken. He shakes his head. 

 "Remember what I said.  Don’t tell Sam.”  

He leaves her alone in the dark.


End file.
